Get your own Free Home PageGonzo flinched back as Carol stood up and pointed the gun at him, "No, stay back!" she shouted. Then, suddenly, the sound of metal crashing against metal distracted her and she turned, firing the gun so awkwardly the bullet sprayed insulation from an overhead pipe. Gonzo surged forward to grab her, and knock the gun out of her hands while she was still dazed by her own actions. Good job, Stan, he thought, blessing Stanley's bump of curiosity for bringing him down into the steam filled power station, that was perfect timing.
Carol's knees went out from under her, and Gonzo eased them both down to the ground, listening to her confused apologies. "It's all right, Carol," he told her. "It's over now." Except for the consequences. I hope David Sandler's got some time to spare. He looked over his shoulder, to tell Stan to go and get a gurney, but Stanley wasn't there.
Gonzo reviewed the past few seconds hastily, but he couldn't remember hearing Stanley's footfalls, or Stanley saying anything since the gun had gone off. He did remember Stan calling his name, and getting closer each time, as Gonzo had first approached Carol.
"Stan? Stanley? Are you there?" Gonzo called. Maybe it was a cat who knocked those things down.
"G...Gonzo?" Stanley's voice was high and cracked. "...help..."
Oh shit. Gonzo picked Carol up and forced her to walk with him until he got to where he could see Stanley sitting against the chainlink fence that formed a wall around one of the generators. His face was white with shock, and the hands he held clasped against his chest were red with blood, but he was conscious and his frightened eyes met Gonzo's, pleading.
Carol pulled out of her curl of dismay and saw what she had done and began to shriek and fight Gonzo's grip. "No! No! That's not right! I messed up! I messed up!"
"Stop it!" Gonzo yelled at her. She was so surprised she did stop, at least for the moment, and he took the chance to tell Stanley. "I'm going to go and get help, Stan. I'll be right back. Don't move."
"I'm afraid..." Stanley managed to say, but then Carol began to cry and writhe again, and Gonzo had all he could do just to deal with her. Time to go. I'm sorry, Stanley; I don't want to leave you here, but I don't have a choice. I can't leave you alone with a madwoman. I'll be back.
He pulled her under the big pipe that had barred the way, and then hauled her up the stairs, the blood pounding in his ears as the adrenalin tried desperately to compensate for what had been too long a day already. I don't need this. I really don't need this. Hang on, Stanley. I'm going as fast as I can. But it took forever to reach the parking lot. He burst out into the daylight gratefully and started to yell. "Help! Somebody help! I need a stretcher and security! Help!"
The cry was echoed across the parking lot, as some of the people started toward him, and others ran to the main building to get what he'd asked for. He spun Carol into the arms of the first arrival. "Take her to the psych ward and tell them to hang on to her until I can get there," he ordered. The second person was someone he recognized as an orderly from the fifth floor. "Go tell Dr. McIntyre that Dr. Riverside's been shot -- and then get the police over here."
"Dr. Riverside?" It was Gloria Brancusi at his shoulder, "Where is he?"
"About three levels down," Gonzo told her. "Send the stretcher." He dove back through the door, trusting Gloria to make sure that help came.
"I'm coming, Stan! I'm coming!" he shouted as he careened down the stairs. He bounced off the wall as he went around the corner, and cracked his kneecap against the concrete floor as he slid under the pipe to get back to where Stanley was waiting.
He was paler -- and there was more blood -- but he was still awake, taking each breath as if it pained him.
"I'm here," Gonzo gasped. "I'm here, Stan. Let me take a look."
"I'm afraid," Stanley said, in a small voice. "It hurts."
"I know it does," Gonzo said, peeling Stan's hands back carefully. His first hope, that it would be one of Stanley's hands that had been hit, was immediately dashed. There was a ragged hole in Stanley's shirt, just left of his sternum, and the bright stain was spreading perceptibly over his chest.
"Am I dying?" Stan asked, afraid to look.
"I don't know, Stan," Gonzo said, starting to loosen up Stan's tie. "It's awfully close to your heart. Try to move your legs for me."
Stanley grimaced, but he flexed first one leg, and then the other obediently. The strain made him breathe all the harder. Hopefully that means that there's no spinal damage, Gonzo thought. He eased Stan away from the wall, carefully, and got off the coat and shirt so he could check his back. "I don't see any exit wound. It must still be inside."
"It hurts," Stanley said again, pressing one hand back against the wound, but seeking out Gonzo's hand with the other. "Gonzo, it hurts." His eyes were squinched shut, and he sounded like he was about to pass out.
"I know it hurts. Stay with me, Stanley." Gonzo heard voices somewhere from the higher levels and turned his head to shout, "Down here!" Stanley's whole body flinched at the sound, and the wounded man gave an inarticulate cry.
Gonzo let Stanley lean against him, holding him to keep him warm and reassure him while they waited for the stretcher. He didn't want to put him all the way down on the cold concrete floor, not when Stanley was already shivering. It wasn't more than a minute before two ambulance drivers appeared with the stretcher, and Gloria on their heels. She was carrying an EMT kit, and Gonzo felt his hopes rise at the sight of it.
"Come on, let's get him on the stretcher, and get some vitals, and start an IV," he ordered. "Then we can get him out of here."
"Right, doc," the ambulance men settled the stretcher beside Stanley, and helped Gonzo move him, carefully, onto it. Stanley didn't want to let go of Gonzo, though, and he protested faintly.
"Don't leave me."
"I'm not leaving, Stan." Gonzo pried his hand free carefully. "But I need both hands to take care of you."
"I'm so cold." Stanley let himself be handled, but his eyes stayed on Gonzo, the fear ebbing as he began to pass out.
"Don't fall asleep," Gonzo ordered, taking the stethoscope that Gloria was offering him and putting it on. "Stanley, you've got to stay with us. Tell me where it hurts."
Stanley struggled to keep his eyes open. "Sorry."
Gonzo listened to his heartbeat, heard something odd about the secondary sound, but couldn't identify it. He felt carefully around the injury. "Does this hurt?"
"Not much..." Stanley managed, and then blanched, "There."
"The ribs are broken." Gonzo decided. It feels like someone hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer there. "Is the IV ready?"
"Just about," Gloria said.
"Have we got a BP yet?"
"90 over 70," the ambulance driver told him.
"Okay, let's go. Be careful, keep him level."
They had to slide the stretcher under the pipe to get to the stairs, and Gonzo found himself close to Stanley's head as they worked him under it. Stanley met his gaze and said, "Gonzo. Tell John. Sorry. Know he's... short staffed...already."
I don't believe this! "You can tell him youself, Stan. You'll be all right," Gonzo felt the words escape him and wished he could call them back, but Stanley's face relaxed at the facile reassurance.
"I will? Promise?"
Please, God, don't make me a liar. "Yeah. Yeah, I promise. John and I will make sure of it." He smiled, and hoped that Stanley was too groggy to tell that the smile was pasted on with prayer.
The worry lines came back to Stanley's forehead. "You need...to rest... gassed..."
"I'm fine, Stanley. I'll rest when you're okay," Gonzo told him, as they wheeled the stretcher to the base of the stairs.
"Ready?" The ambulance guys put him and Gloria on the sides while they handled the ends, and they started the climb.
A few feet up, Gonzo was surprised to see more orderlies, and nurses, and even doctors, from the hospital, spacing themselves along the stairs and switching off teams as they boosted the stretcher with Stanley upwards. He lost Gloria somewhere near the bottom, and when he ran out of breath, he had to give up and pass his corner of the stretcher, and the IV bag to Fergusen, but he followed along in the wake of the stretcher, all the way to the top, and wished he had the energy to answer Stanley's calling.
I'm right behind you, Stan. I just can't climb stairs and talk. Listen to Titus. He's got you. Andrews is there too. We've all got you. See, there's Ernie. Ernie's got you. I'm just following along.
Ernie passed the stretcher to the next person up and took a grip on Gonzo's arm, propelling him along. "We've got OR two on standby," she told him as they climbed. "Are you hurt?"
Gonzo shook his head. "I'm okay." Except for being out of breath and so tired my legs want to fold backwards. "Where's Trapper?"
"Getting the trauma room ready." They reached the surface at last, and Gonzo was surprised to see an ambulance backed up against the end of the building. The stretcher team headed for it, and swung Stanley inside, and Ernie made sure that she and Gonzo got inside too, before the door was swung shut.
"Dad?" Stanley was whimpering raggedly. "Don't leave me." There was blood on the corners of his mouth now, and more appeared when he coughed painfully.
"Nobody's leaving you, Stan. We've got you." Gonzo told him, taking his hand for the short duration of the ride across the parking lot. "I'm with you." He must have blood in the lungs. And his hand is like ice. We've got to do something about the shock. "Ernie, is there a MAST suit in this thing?"
"Not that I can see," Ernie said. "Stanley, Stanley, honey, stay with us. Try to stay awake."
This morning she was using that tone of voice on me, Gonzo thought. And Stanley was saving my life. I wonder if he was the one who pulled me out of the Titanic. I haven't had time to ask.
The ambulance shuddered to a halt, and the back door was pulled open by Jackpot Jackson, who looked as stunned as Gonzo felt. He grabbed for the stretcher and pulled, willing hands appearing on either side as they set the wheels down. "I've got you, Stan," he said, like all the others had said as they had helped. Gonzo wondered if Stanley would remember. He and Ernie stuck with the stretcher, as Jackpot propelled it into the trauma room, yelling for clearance at the gawking staff coming on and off shift change.
Trapper was at the door of the trauma room, frowning at his first glimpse of the damage. "What have we got?"
"Gunshot -- I think it was a ricochet. The bullet went in, but it hasn't come out, and his heart sounds wrong. He's shocky, his respiration is getting worse, and he's starting to cough up blood," Gonzo said. They got in to the room and he barked at the waiting team of nurses, "Get the MAST suit on him."
"And oxygen. I've ordered six units of O neg," Trapper said, "Somebody get a type and cross match by the time we get up to OR. Harris, let's get that x-ray set up."
"John?" Stanley's eyes opened, and he tried to turn toward Trapper's voice. "John, something... moved...inside...hurts..."
Trapper's expression softened as he leaned over so Stanley could see him more clearly. "It's okay, Stan. We're going to take a picture, and then Gonzo and I are going to fix you up. Just stay with us a little longer. Can you do that?"
"I'll try." Stanley bit his lip, but he kept his eyes open as best he could.
If it were me I think I'd have fainted by now, Gonzo thought, as he helped shift Stanley from the stretcher onto the gurney and stood back while the tech took two quick x-rays of Stan's chest. Maybe you're just too frightened to faint. No -- you're just trying to do what we've asked for. You'd try to get up and walk around if Trapper wanted you to. What the hell were you doing down there, Stanley? Why did you follow me?
"He was able to move his legs earlier," Gonzo remembered to tell Trapper, as Jackpot cleared away the rest of Stanley's clothes so they could get the MAST trousers into place.
"Try now," Trapper ordered, as he got the ekg contacts placed.
"Stanley? Move your feet for me," Gonzo said.
Stanley pulled a face, but his toes wiggled, and his ankles flexed. "Still good," Gonzo said, and hit the switch to increase the pressure in the MAST suit. "How's his blood pressure?"
"90 over 50," Ernie reported.
"Open up the IV. Have we got that blood yet?" Trapper got the ekg set and flipped on the monitor. The line across the screen pulsed erratically, and the paper tape bounced under the scribble of the marker wire. "Gonzo, take a look at this."
What the hell? Looks like..."Something's interfering with the left ventricle," he realized. "Damn. Have we got that x-ray yet?"
"Here, Gonzo," Harris passed one x-ray to Gonzo and the other to Trapper. They peered up through them at the light.
"Holy..." The bullet's inside the pericardium. I can't tell if it's torn the cardiac muscle or not. And those look like pieces of rib near the bronchii. "We've got to get in there, Trap. I don't think this can wait."
"Damn straight it can't," Trapper said. "Here, hand me that." He took the second x-ray and lined it up with the one in his hand before he looked through both. "Ernie tell OR to get the heart-lung machine lined up to go. We might need it. Jackpot, get him started on plasma and a slow lidacaine drip. Gonzo, come here and take a look at this."
Gonzo started around the table, and a wave of dark fuzz invaded his vision. He paused to let it pass, but Trapper had seen the hesitation. He took the younger surgeon by the arm and pulled him a few feet away from the table. "Are you up to surgery?"
"I promised him I'd be there," Gonzo told Trapper. "If I could hold together for Ridley, I can hold together for Stan."
"It's not going to help Stan or me if you faint in the middle of his chest," Trapper said, "He's right about something moving. See this bone chip? Here and then here?"
"It's caught in the bronchial tube," Gonzo figured. "Everytime he breathes it gets pushed up or pulled down." Gonzo looked over to where Jackpot was listening to Stanley's lungs. There must be three or four hours work here at least. I'm sorry, Stan, but Trapper's right. I'd never make it. "Maybe you'd better ask Martin to assist, Trap. I can go in, and talk to Stan until he's under, but ..." This was harder than it seemed. "I just don't want to take any chances."
Trapper looked over his glasses at Gonzo, concern and understanding in his eyes. "We'll tell Stan about it later," he said. "Now let's get him prepped and up there."
"Gonz?" Jackpot called. "Gonz, I think he's asking for you."
Gonzo went over to Stanley, and leaned close to his head, moving the oxygen mask aside for a moment, "What is it, Stan?"
"Top... left drawer...desk..." Stanley was really struggling to get the words out now. We've got to get in there soon.
"There's something in the top left hand drawer of your desk?" Gonzo tried to make it easier on him. "Do you want me to look in there?"
"Yes." Stanley managed. "In...case...give...John..."
"Okay, Stan, okay. I understand. You just take it easy," Gonzo put the mask back into place. "I'm going to stay with you for now, but when I get a chance I'll look in the drawer. Okay?
Stanley nodded slightly, his eyes relieved.
Trapper had taken the chance to get on the phone and page Martin, but he came back now and noted where the preparations were with satisfaction. "Okay, let's get him upstairs. Ready?"
"Ready," several voices said. Gonzo took a deep breath and braced himself for the dash.
"Hold on, Stanley, here we go," he said, and they went.
It's like a bad dream that just goes on and on and on, Gonzo thought as he scrubbed and followed Trapper and Martin and Ernie into the operating room. He went over to where Pete was getting Stanley ready, and smiled under his mask. "I'm here, Stan," he said.
"And so am I," Trapper told the injured man over Gonzo's shoulder.
"Can...I...sleep...now?" Stanley asked Gonzo, his eyes worried.
"Sure, Stan. Pete, why don't you get started?"
Pete put the mask in place, "All right, Dr. Riverside, I want you to just breathe and relax. Breathe and relax."
Stanley's eyes closed, and his face relaxed into unconsciousness while Pete, like the artist he was, carefully monitored his level of awareness. "Okay, Trapper, get in there."
It's not much fun just watching, Gonzo realized as the operation went on. He was too tired to follow what Trapper was doing, and he found a seat and sat down after a while and tried not to think about the steady rythmn of the respirator. He was hungry all of a sudden. He hadn't had a chance to eat all day.
"Gonzo?" Jackpot's voice sounded tinny through the speaker. "Gonzo, the police want to talk to you."
Gonzo looked over to the observation room, where Jackpot was standing near the microphone, and Gloria Brancusi was crouched in one of the chairs. They both looked distraught, and Jackpot was clutching a slip of paper in one hand. "Now?" Gonzo asked.
"They need to know if there's any danger to any one else," Jackpot said. "They found a gun, but you and Carol are the only witnesses to the shooting, and she was so hysterical they had to sedate her. They say they can't let anyone leave the premises without more information."
"Go on, Gonzo," Trapper said. "Stanley will forgive you when he wakes up."
I don't want to leave. I'm not really helping, but I don't want to leave. Not with Stanley's chest open like a Christmas turkey's. "There's not that much to tell. Carol was the one with the gun, and she's the one who was sending threats too, so as long as they've got her under wraps, no one else is in danger. Not even Ridley."
Jackpot looked surprised, but he nodded. "I'll tell them." He left the observation room, quietly, and Gloria watched him go, and then turned back to watch the operation again. She's been crying, Gonzo realized. I didn't think she liked Stanley that much. Hell, I didn't think I liked Stanley that much. But somebody has to like him. He tries so hard and his father doesn't even pretend to care. Oh, God.
"Gloria, did anyone call Stanley's father?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said, pulling herself together. "I don't think so. Unless Mr. Slocum thought of it."
"Damn." Gonzo felt the whole situation starting to overwhelm him, and he took a deep breath to keep himself calm for a little longer. "Trapper, do you think he'll make it?"
"Well, here's the bullet," Trapper said, putting something into the bowl that Ernie was holding. "And I don't see any actual tears in the cardiac muscle -- so I'd say his chances are pretty good. You go call old man Riverside, and take a nap, and I'll tell you what I think when I get out of surgery. You look paler than Stanley does."
"All right," Gonzo said, and headed out the door. He got as far as the changing room before the damn broke, and undressed hastily, so that he could hide in the shower until the tears ebbed.
Jackpot was waiting for him with a towel and a clean set of greens when he finally felt like he could face the world again. Gonzo took them and said, "Thanks. How's it going in there?"
"All right, I think. Trapper's loosened up enough to start making jokes, anyway. How are you holding up?" Jackpot was looking him over carefully, and Gonzo felt grateful for the concern.
He waggled a hand. "So-so. I'm hungry, but I'm too tired to do anything about it. And I've got to call Stanley's father -- unless you or Arnold did."
Jackpot grimaced. "Oh, man. I never even thought of it. And Arnold left early -- I don't think he even knows what happened."
"Damn." I was hoping to get out of it. "Well, the sooner he gets notified, the better. Could you get somebody to send up some food for me to Stanley's office?"
"Sure. Right away." Jackpot left, looking relieved at having something definite to do.
When Gonzo got to Stanley's office and sat down at the desk, he remembered what Stanley had asked him to do, and opened the top left drawer. He found Stanley's address book there, and a neat stack of the small notebooks which he knew that Stanley usually carried in his pocket. Curious, he flipped through a couple of them, and found meticulous, and sometimes cryptic notes about symptoms, patients, staff, equipment, and supplies. "3 ekg units -- beg if nec." "check side eff. dopamine" "Brancusi still wrd abt bro." "I hate it when we get addicted newborns!" "new gurneys!" Some of it made a little sense, but it was mostly the kind of thing that Gonzo kept in his head. Of course, Trapper wrote out schedules and stuff too. Maybe it was just part of being a department head. I hope my life never gets this complicated. He went through the address book to find Riverside Senior's phone numbers, one for his main office, one for home, and several for different clubs. He dialed the first one, and pulled the drawer out to see if he could figure out why Stanley had asked him to look in it while he waited for an answer. At the back of the drawer, there were two envelopes, each labeled with precision: "G. Alonzo Gates, M.D." on one and "John T. McIntyre, M.D." on the other.
The phone at the other end of the line was picked up and an older man's voice said, "Riverside," in a crochety tone. "What is it now?"
"Mr. Riverside, this is Dr. Gates, at San Francisco Memorial."
"Gates? How the hell did you get my private number?"
"I found it in Stanley's address book," Gonzo began, but he was interrupted.
"I told him to memorize it, not leave it lying around for anyone to find. What does he think he's doing, leaving it out in the open like that?"
Gonzo's temper flared. "Will you listen for a minute? Stanley's in surgery, and I thought you should know so I looked through his desk."
"Surgery?" the voice at the other end was still disgruntled. "He hasn't got the brains to be a surgeon."
If I weren't just about to give you rotten news I think I'd tell you exactly what I think of you, you old cheapskate. "He's not the surgeon, Mr. Riverside. He's the patient. He got shot. The bullet lodged near his heart."
There was a gratifying silence. "Bullet?" the old man finally said. "Did you say bullet?"
"Yes." Gonzo said. "Dr. McIntyre's operating now. It happened about an hour ago. I'm sorry you weren't informed sooner."
"Shot. It must be a mistake. How could he have annoyed anyone enough to get shot?"
"Look, it was an accident," Gonzo said. "The girl who shot him was just trying to scare us away. Now are you coming?"
"It's damn inconvenient. I have things to do, here! I'm giving a speech at my club in half an hour." But Gonzo could hear the scrape of a chair. "When will he be out of surgery?"
"An hour and a half, maybe two hours from now, unless something goes wrong," Gonzo said.
"The whole evening gone then," Riverside grumbled. "All right, I'll get there as soon as I've arranged for another speaker."
"He's in operating room two," Gonzo said. "I'll try to arrange for someone to meet you in the waiting area."
"Right." Riverside hung up, and Gonzo -- who had expected to have to explain a lot more -- found himself resentful at having been let off the hook. You might try pretending that you care, he thought at the old man, and slammed the handset onto the cradle.
"Bad news?" Jackpot was at the door holding a tray, looking uncertain.
Gonzo shook his head. "No, no, I was just talking to old man Riverside. That man is bad for my blood pressure."
Jackpot relaxed. "What did he do? Blame you for Stanley getting hurt?"
"No, he's too busy blaming Stanley. It's 'inconvenient', but he's going to come. Who do you know that would be willing to hold his hand outside OR? I told him I'd have somebody meet him."
"Not Gloria," Jackpot said, as he brought the tray over to the desk. "She nearly punched his daylights out the last time she had to cope with him. Maybe Andrews. He wouldn't give her any crap."
"Hasn't she gone home for the day?"
Jackpot dropped into a chair and rubbed at his eyes. "No. She's upstairs, along with the rest of the ER dayshift, waiting for word on Stan."
"Really?" Gonzo poked through the tray. Tuna fish. Chips. Coffee. Oh well, it's food. "Nice to know that somebody gives a damn whether he lives or dies."
Jackpot shrugged. "You can't let the old man get to you, Gonz. If finds a way to get you to react he'll end up manipulating you, too. He wants his own way. Five bucks says he'll use this mess to convince Stan to get out of Emergency Medicine."
"Why would he do that?" Gonzo asked. "Stan's good at Emergency Medicine."
"Of course he's good. Do you think I would have taken my residency here after my internship if he weren't?" Jackpot stole a handful of potato chips from the tray. "But as near as I can tell, his father wanted him to do something flashier, or more profitable -- like plastic surgery. Emergency Medicine is the only thing Stan's father has never been able to win the fight on."
Gonzo sighed. "Maybe it's just something about being a father that screws people up. My real father was a jerk, too."
Jackpot shrugged. "My dad's no prize, either, but at least he leaves me alone. Stan's father spends half his time ignoring his existence and the other half telling him how to tie his shoes in the morning." He pushed himself upright. "I don't know, Gonz. Half the time I want a wife and kids, and the other half I think all I'd end up doing is making their lives miserable. Not that I have any prospects at the moment. But when something like this happens, it makes me want them." He went to the door. "Are you going to stay here, or move up to Trapper's office?"
"I'll go up to Trapper's office as soon as I've eaten," Gonzo said. "You'll let me know if there's any news, right?"
"You bet."
After Jackpot left, Gonzo found the envelope with his name on it, and slit it open, to have something to read while he ate his sandwich. Inside, he found some legal looking documents, and a handwritten letter. He picked up the sandwich in one hand, and started to read.
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